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Hated enemies. Trapped together. Fight one another? Or fight together and maybe survive? Or maybe die…

Aliyana Montero will do anything to rescue her sister from the ruthless kidnappers who took her from outside the school where she works. Even if that means accepting help from Ram Torres, the most infuriating—and sexy—man Ali has ever met. She and Ram first met on a mission in Afghanistan and they clashed instantly. Ram accused her of being hotheaded and impulsive. She thought he was cold and arrogant. Both refused to acknowledge the heat that flared between them. Now, as her sister’s life hangs in the balance, Ali will have to swallow her pride and once again work with the man who has secretly haunted her dreams.

Read the opening of Trapped…

Sergeant Ali Montero had to admit it—she was worried as hell. She tried to force the snakes roiling around in her belly to stop, but her gut was tight. Worry plagued her as her combat boots thudded down the dirty ply-board floor that was in desperate need of a good sweeping. She knew what was coming: Chief Wyatt Lockwood, the leader of Bravo SEAL team here in Jalalabad, Afghanistan, had requested a private meeting with her. Now, she reluctantly dragged herself toward his office, wishing the reprimand—or whatever he had in mind—was over.

For sure, these meetings were never a good sign. The SEALs she worked with called them “woodshed moments,” meaning you were probably in deep shit and Lockwood was going to let you know it. She’d been with Bravo team for over three months, and now, in June, her number had come up and the shit was probably going to hit the fan.

What had she done wrong? She bit her lower lip, trying to figure out why he’d be calling her, of all people, in for a roasting. Like her fellow SEALs, Ali wore a tan t-shirt and desert camo trousers. Unlike the others, she wore her long black hair back in a ponytail most of the time.

J-bad, in their cramped, one-story brick compound behind the wire, everyone wore a sidearm. They knew their base was a major target for the Taliban, given the SEAL teams’ talent for decimating the enemy. Ali was part of a snatch-and-grab team aimed at killing high-level Taliban commanders or capturing the bastards alive, then handing them over to the CIA for interrogation.

Actually, she suspected she knew what had brought on this meeting. Ever since arriving in J-bad on special assignment to the SEAL team, one guy had put her in his sights: Petty Officer Two, Ram Torres, a Mexican-American born in Nogales, Arizona. For some reason, he seemed to hate her on sight. He’d never accepted her as a part of their all-male team, even after Ali had tried to warm up their frosty relationship. The SEAL would have none of it, constantly turning his back on her efforts to be pleasant.

She wished she could avoid him, but they were a small team and inevitably found themselves thrown together at times they would have preferred never to see each other again. Ever!

Ali slowed down as she approached Lockwood’s office, pausing at his door hanging slightly askew on its hinges. There was nothing perfect about the SEAL group’s housing. The Navy Seabees hadn’t made up this hodge-podge of three-quarter inch ply-board. Rather, the first SEAL units had cobbled it together hastily within the grey cement structure. It wasn’t great carpentry, nor was it an engineering feat to brag about. But it kept them out of the elements and dry, and that was all that mattered.

Taking a deep breath, she looked up and down the quiet passageway. Lockwood had told her to arrive at 0800. To Ali’s relief, the area was empty. She didn’t want her teammates knowing about this—although she was sure word would get back to the guys sooner or later. She knocked firmly on the door, and from the other side, she heard the reply in a heavy Texas drawl, “Mosey on in, Montero.”